Page 14 of Chains of Recompense
“It’s not that,” I confess, my body tingling with the memory of all the ways he made me come tonight.
Cheeks burning, I bite my lip, and his eyes drop to track the movement.
His thumb shifts to tug my lip free, his gaze warming as he runs the pad of his thumb over my freshly liberated lip.
“Then tell me when I can see you again,” he murmurs, his gaze flicking back up to burn into mine.
I had no intention of doing something this reckless again. I promised myself that one night of freedom—one night of rebellion—would be enough to satisfy my curiosity.
Besides, I have no clue whether I would even be able to sneak out of the house a second time.
It was a small miracle that I managed to do it once, and the odds that no one’s noticed my absence are slim to none.
But the thought of meeting Raf again, of exploring more of whatever this feeling is that he brings out in me… the idea of it is dangerously tempting.
“I… don’t know,” I admit.
“Well, I’m not letting you leave this room until you name a time and place,” Raf says, leaning in until our lips are mere inches apart.
A thrill ripples through my body at the dark promise of his words. And I find that Iwantto see him again. Far more than I should.
“Tomorrow night,” I breathe. “Same time. Same place.” I can only hope that I’ll be able to make that happen.
A slow smirk spreads across Raf’s beautiful face. “Good.” Then he leans in to steal one last scintillating kiss.
1
RAFAEL
Present Day
The house still smells like smoke.
Even after weeks of reconstruction—fresh plaster, new paint, scaffolding stretching across the west wing—the scent lingers.
It creeps out of the walls like a memory itself, reminding me of what we lost.
The chandelier in the foyer gleams again, refracting light across the marble floors, but the cracks beneath it are still visible if you know where to look.
In many ways, it’s just like us, the fractured family we’ve become.
Sandro stands by the window, staring out at the courtyard.
His reflection stares back at him—gaunt, a little hollow-eyed.
The look of a man who has seen his worst nightmare come to life and somehow survived it.
He’s healing, but not yet whole.
The man who went into the Yakuza’s dungeon isn’t the same one who came out.
There’s a stillness to him now.
Not peace—something sharper.
Like he’s holding his breath, waiting for a killing blow.
And I know it’s not because of what Kenji did to him—but rather Evi. Whatever took place in that basement still haunts my twin.
